It happened late one summer’s day while I was cooking in my home
I had been slow braising a joint of pork in beer until it was falling off the bone.
While I worked on my reduction, shredding pig between two forks
There was a sudden sparking sound as a Cadillac parked on my porch.
Out came Guy Fieri, his hair of frosted tips
His mouth was covered in a goatee made of crackling bits and chips.
He said in a jovial way, “How you doing there man?”
And before I could tell him to fuck off he started eating my pork with his bare hands.
“Mmm this is good,” he said without swallowing first
As he rummaged around my fridge pulling out a ginger beer for his thirst.
As I watched his peroxide-framed mouth detach in revolutions from his jaw
He helped himself to a loaf of bread that I had baked an hour before.
“Wow, I’ll tell you something buddy you should be on my show!”
And before I knew it a whole filming crew started pouring from below
His flame-decal shirt that smelt of bourbon and old-timey-factory-ham.
You wouldn’t believe the wonders that fell out of the XXXL top of the loud Smashmouth-Man:
A gaffer-boy covered in fondant,
Two camera women dressed in squeezy cheese,
A five-spice chicken wing production assistant,
A make-up artist wearing take-out Chinese,
A beef steak rub bottle wearing a director’s hat,
And continuity editor that looked suspiciously like a sushi mat,
In half an hour the deed was done and Guy had filmed an episode
Of some or other Food Network show that now featured my own abode.
When the beef steak bottle yelled, “Cut!” and Guy had eaten his fill
He told me that he had fun especially with my home-made cucumber-pickled-dill
(that I don’t remember watching him eat but I now view the bottle with suspicion)
The whole crew then vanished back up his shirt now that Guy had completed his mission.
And as the Cadillac vanished in a puff of hot-sauce taking with it America’s Barbeque Clown
I realized I shouldn’t be angry as it was my fault for living in Flavourtown.